


Ethereal

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Dean and Castiel, Nontraditional Gift Giving, Secret Relationship, Snow, also i guess, obligatory christmas fic, though that's not a major theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13164882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: Ethereal - of or relating to the regions beyond the earth; lacking material substance; marked by unusual delicacy or refinement.Lucifer's present for Sam is unconventional, to say the least.





	Ethereal

**Author's Note:**

> Voila, have the obligatory holiday fic. Would've been posted yesterday, but y'know, it's sort of hard to write when you're travelling all day long. Hope you enjoy, and that you've had a good holiday season this year.

There’s such a stillness to the air when it snows. A hush settles over the world, and the mock-death the land falls under is oddly peaceful. There’s no birdsong, no faint movements or rustling in the underbrush outside the bunker. Everything has fallen to a standstill.

They’re far enough out of the way of other people that the snow is entirely undisturbed when Sam steps out of the little covered doorway to the bunker. His boots crunch the snow as he steps forward into the dim pre-dawn light, climbing the stairs. He brushes some snow off the railing, and leans against it, taking in the morning.

Dean hasn’t wanted to do Christmas in years, not since the year before things really started going to shit. Sam wishes they would. He’d like an excuse to take a break just for a day, to just drink and listen to seasonal music and have the concrete walls of the bunker look a little more alive with garlands and lights. Exchanging gifts, even, though Sam doesn’t really know what he’d get his brother at this point. Anything they want isn’t exactly easily bought.

The stillness of the world makes the typically inaudible displacement of air known to him, and Sam turns his head to see Lucifer, standing in front of the bunker’s doors. He meets Sam’s eyes, and Sam notices how the pale blue of them fades almost to gray in this light.

“Sam,” Lucifer says his name affectionately, more warmly than Sam’s ever heard him say anything else.

“Hey, Lucifer,” Sam sighs, and brushes some more snow off the railing as Lucifer climbs the stairs. “Did you need something?” he asks as Lucifer sits next to him, “I don’t think Cas will be up for another hour at least, and Dean -”

A cold hand settles on Sam’s thigh, and Sam’s mouth clicks shut as he glances over. Lucifer’s expression is patient, amused. “No, Sam. I came to see you.”

He’s tempted to ask why, why does Lucifer want to see him, what’s so special about _him_ \- but they’ve had that conversation so many times that Sam could say his part of it without thought. Instead, he places his hand over Lucifer’s, curls his fingers along the edge of Lucifer’s palm. “Any particular reason, today?” he asks, as casually as he can manage.

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Lucifer asks, amused, tilting his head. “December the twenty-fifth. I came to give you a present.” He waves his other hand at the landscape of white around them, like that’s supposed to mean something.

Maybe it does. “You -” Sam is having a hard time getting the words out of his mouth, “You made it snow?”

Lucifer looks exceptionally smug. “You do like snow. And a white Christmas is considered traditionally appropriate, yes?”

Sam laughs a little, somewhat overwhelmed, because the surprise snowstorm that covered the Midwest was apparently his Christmas present. He appreciates the effort, he really does, but sometimes human things are a little out of Lucifer’s reach.

“It is,” he allows, a smile he can’t fight on his lips, and he squeezes Lucifer’s hand gently. “Thank you, Lucifer.”

The smugness fades, replaced by something quietly pleased, almost happy, nearly content. Sam lifts his hand to Lucifer’s cheek, sighs when the angel closes his eyes and tilts his head into Sam’s hand. “I didn’t get you anything,” Sam admits. “Me and Dean don’t really do Christmas anymore.”

“That’s fine,” Lucifer says, and turns his head to press a dry kiss to Sam’s palm before opening his eyes. “This is enough.”

He can’t fight the words this time, his instinctive reaction to them. “How can this be enough for you? It’s just - me.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agrees, but there’s something fond in his voice. “You, Sam. The only one who has ever proved to be my equal. The only one made for me, as I am for you.”

Sam wonders if Lucifer really intends to be this romantic, or if this is simply the earnest truth from his perspective. It doesn’t matter either way, though; Sam knows he means the words. He tugs Lucifer closer as he leans in, presses a slow, careful kiss to Lucifer’s mouth. There’s an exhale against his mouth, and then Lucifer is kissing back, his hand wrapping around the inside of Sam’s thigh and drawing him closer.

Things always get a little hazy when he’s kissing Lucifer. He doesn’t want to think about anything else, and Lucifer makes sure he can’t. The world fades into a pleasant background hum while they kiss. Lucifer’s hand pushes through his hair, nails dragging against his scalp, and sparks fly down Sam’s spine. He bites Lucifer’s lower lip in return, draws it between his teeth and tugs ever so gently; Lucifer’s gasp so soft and ever so satisfying to hear, and Sam takes gratuitous advantage by sliding his tongue into Lucifer’s mouth.

Lucifer makes a soft, pleased noise, and opens himself to Sam, hand snaking up around Sam’s waist. Sam’s actually fairly sure that Lucifer might just drag him into his lap if things progress any further, so he keeps it slow, gradual, until his head is swimming and he has to pull back to breathe. But even then, he doesn’t move far, just tilts his head to kiss Lucifer’s neck.

Nails bite into his hip when he scrapes his teeth over Lucifer’s pulse. Sam laughs, low and rough against his skin, feels him shudder, and then bites down, worries the skin there with his teeth till it’s red and plainly visible.

“Sam -” Lucifer’s voice is barely there, a hoarse whisper in Sam’s ear, so soaked in need that Sam can’t suppress a shiver. Then he swallows, drags Sam’s head up by his hair and kisses him again, fierce and wild and unrestrained, everything that Lucifer can’t help but be.

There’s a little _ping_ sound, maybe five minutes later. Sam has a hand under Lucifer’s shirt and blatantly ignores it in favor of pulling his hair harder to make the angel whine. It _pings_ again, and he groans, leans back and away from Lucifer as he pulls his phone from his pocket. Lucifer’s expression is somewhere between stunned and annoyed, and his hands haven’t left Sam’s waist, holding on to him so tight that Sam’s fairly certain they’ll bruise.

Sam sighs, shoots a message back, and looks up at Lucifer. “It’s Dean,” he explains, and Lucifer sighs, pulls his hands away from Sam. He tries not to be bitter about the loss. “Do you want to come inside?”

Lucifer hums for a moment, then nods. When they stand, Lucifer slides his hand down Sam’s back, lays his other hand against Sam’s cheek. “Thank you, Sam,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of Sam’s head.

“For what?”

“This,” Lucifer says simply, and the smile on his lips is genuine now, truly content. “You. Everything you’ve given me.”

“Well, y’know,” Sam shrugs, pretends his cheeks aren’t heating up as he glances to the side. “It is Christmas, after all. You’re owed some kind of gift, after all.”

Lucifer laughs, just for a moment, and something about the sound demands that Sam kiss him again, just for a moment. He tastes like the bite of something so pure and cold that it burns, and Sam can’t resist the draw of him.

They have to go inside, and Sam will have to deal with Dean being difficult about the fact that it’s Christmas, and Cas will stare at him and Lucifer with eyes that are altogether too knowing. They can’t blatantly touch each other, not easily. But right now, right here, Sam understands.

This is enough. Lucifer is enough. Grand gestures are rendered unnecessary, because nothing he could give would be better than the simple fact of him being there. Lucifer is the only gift he needs.

“Merry Christmas, Lucifer,” Sam murmurs, still close enough for his lips to brush Lucifer’s when he speaks. He can feel it when Lucifer smiles, and smiles back at him.

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”

 


End file.
